Chapter 4 - History
The master bedroom sprawled across the upstairs corner of August House, heavy with dust and shadow. The air held a faint, musty smell, mixed with lingering traces of old lavender sachets hidden somewhere in the back of a drawer. Tall windows lined one wall, partially veiled by thick, heavy curtains that hadn’t been pulled back in years. Shafts of light seeped through their edges, casting long shadows over the room’s worn furniture. A king-sized bed dominated the space, draped in an old patchwork quilt that had once been vibrant but was now softened to a muted palette of faded blues and greens.
Tilly stood in the doorway, surveying the room with her hands on her hips. “So… yeah,” she said, letting out a long breath, “this will be my new home base. It’s about time I actually moved into this place properly.” She looked around, eyes settling on a worn velvet armchair beside the stone fireplace, its upholstery just barely visible under a thick layer of dust.
Opal pulled open one of the curtains, squinting as a sudden beam of sunlight spilled into the room, illuminating the specks of dust swirling in the air. “This room has serious potential,” she murmured, brushing dust from her hands and glancing back at Tilly. “And there’s enough space in here to do pretty much anything. You could turn that couch into a reading nook, put a record player by the fireplace… really make it feel like yours.”
Tilly nodded, already imagining the possibilities. “I figure if I’m actually going to live here, I might as well make the best of it. Especially with a room this size. Plus, there’s the bathroom right over there.” She motioned toward a half-open door, beyond which the clawfoot tub and marble vanity caught the light, inviting and elegant despite years of neglect.
They began working side by side, tugging down dusty covers from furniture and setting aside anything that seemed worth keeping. Opal carefully lifted an old crystal lamp off the dresser, holding it to the light as she examined the base. “So, what’s the story with this place anyway? I mean, it’s not exactly the kind of property that just… falls into someone’s hands.”
Tilly gave a small smile, glancing over her shoulder as she handed Opal a faded quilt to fold. “It’s a bit of a long story. I’ve heard it a few times, mostly from Uncle Fred, but also from my mom a couple of times. Funny thing is, it seems to change each time, like no one could ever agree on how it really happened. But this is what I remember.”
Opal tossed the quilt onto the bed, settling in to listen. “I’ve got time.”
“Alright… so, my great-great-grandfather, Frank August, was the one who came out here. It wasn’t exactly planned, though.” Tilly picked up a framed photograph from the bedside table, rubbing her thumb over the cracked glass. “He and his wife, Maria, had just gotten married. She was from Portugal, and they were heading out West to make a fresh start. But somewhere along the way, their ship got caught in a storm and had to stop here for repairs. They decided to stay for a while, and then… well, they never left.”
Opal raised her eyebrows as she tossed a pile of yellowed newspapers into the trash bag. “So they liked it here that much?”
“Apparently. I think it just… felt right to them, you know?” Tilly set the photograph aside, letting her fingers trail along the wood of the dresser. The surface was rough, scarred by time and use, but still sturdy. “They started small. Frank got an import business up and running, and they managed. It wasn’t an empire or anything, but they did okay.”
The two fell into a rhythm, clearing the space item by item. Tilly pulled out old linens from a trunk, smelling faint traces of lavender as she carefully folded them into a neat stack. Opal moved to the dresser, pulling out old drawers and stacking stray papers and trinkets beside her.
“So, your family’s just… always been here?” Opal asked, pausing to blow dust off a cracked photo album.
“Pretty much,” Tilly replied, her voice steady as she ran her fingers over the worn wood. “But it wasn’t just Frank. He ended up inviting his cousin Max to join him here. Max was living out in San Francisco at the time, and Frank thought he could help with the business. Max had… ambition. He wasn’t content to just let things stay the same.”
Opal placed the photo album down on the dresser, her eyes on Tilly as she listened. “Sounds like they really built something here.”
Tilly nodded, folding her arms as she looked around the room. “Max was relentless. He convinced Frank to expand the docks, to build something big enough for larger ships. And he wasn’t done there—he started lobbying for a railroad connection, and eventually, they got it. When the San Francisco earthquake hit, Santa Creda suddenly became crucial. They’d managed to turn this little fishing town into something important, almost overnight.”
They worked in silence for a while, the faint creak of the floorboards and the distant rustle of leaves from outside the only sounds in the stillness. Each layer they removed felt like peeling back a piece of history, exposing the quiet remnants of lives that had once filled the house.
Opal took a seat on the couch by the window, looking around the now-clear room, a faint smile playing on her lips. “It sounds… intense. I mean, your family had this entire town under their thumb.”
Tilly laughed, resting her hand on the bedpost as she glanced back at Opal. “In a way, yeah. But not everything was smooth sailing. Frank and Max started to clash. Frank wanted to keep things steady, make sure what they’d built would last. Max, though, he wanted more. He kept talking about expanding, taking risks, pushing for bigger projects. They eventually reached a breaking point.”
Opal’s eyebrows lifted slightly, leaning in as she listened. “So what happened?”
Tilly hesitated, her gaze drifting to the fireplace. “They split. Frank offered to buy Max out, and Max left. He took off for New York, and they never spoke again.”
The silence settled thick around them, the gravity of the story lingering in the room. It was a stillness that felt almost alive, as though the house itself remembered the tension that had once filled its walls.
Opal shook her head, her voice soft. “So Frank got the business, but he lost his cousin. That’s… a lot to carry.”
Tilly nodded, her gaze fixed on the shadows cast by the fading light across the bed. “Yeah. Max took that drive with him when he left, that part of the family that wanted to keep going. After that, the Augusts just… turned inward. No more expansions, just maintaining what was already here.”
They worked quietly, clearing away the last of the clutter and pulling back the remaining curtains, letting the late afternoon light fill the room. The walls seemed to breathe easier, the dust settling as they finally cleared enough space to see the room as it was meant to be.
When they were finished, Tilly took a seat on the edge of the bed, patting the quilt and smoothing out its fabric. The bed, for all its age, still held a certain dignity, the quilt’s faded colors giving it a warmth that seemed to echo the years of use it had seen.
Opal joined her, lying back on the quilt with a sigh, her gaze drifting up to the ceiling, where faint, faded patterns of leaves and vines lingered from some forgotten decor. “You know, it’s strange to think of this place just… sitting here, empty for so long.”
“Sometimes it feels like a different world,” Tilly murmured, her eyes tracing the delicate moldings along the ceiling. “I guess it kind of is.”
They sat together in companionable silence, the room around them steeped in quiet history. Tilly leaned back, feeling the solid weight of the bed beneath her, the soft pressure of the quilt against her hands. It was as though the room itself held a quiet patience, waiting for someone to fill it again.
Outside, the faint rustle of wind in the trees filtered through the open window, mingling with the distant chirp of crickets. In the soft light, the room began to take on a different feel, less like a relic and more like a space that could finally breathe again.
As they lay there, the two of them side by side on the bed, Tilly felt a quiet sense of belonging settle over her. The years of dust and silence seemed to fade, replaced by the simple warmth of shared company and the steady pulse of the house around them.
The room took on a lighter feel as they finished clearing away the last of the dust and clutter. The heavy curtains were finally drawn back, allowing the late afternoon sunlight to spill in, casting warm, soft beams across the walls and floor. Tilly pulled back an old quilt from the couch by the fireplace, revealing its deep green upholstery—a shade that almost matched the ivy winding its way up the outside walls.
Opal tossed a couple of worn cushions onto the bed, then flopped down next to them, stretching her arms out over her head. “You know, this might be the most comfortable bed I’ve ever been on,” she said, grinning up at the ceiling. “No wonder it’s the master.”
Tilly laughed, sinking down beside her. “It’s probably been here as long as the house. I wouldn’t be surprised if my great-great-grandparents slept on this bed.”
“Do you ever think about that?” Opal asked, turning onto her side and propping her head up with her hand. “I mean… how many generations have been in this room?”
Tilly’s eyes drifted around the space, taking in the high, patterned ceiling, the carved wood of the bedposts, the faint marks on the floor where furniture had once sat. “All the time,” she admitted. “It’s like… the walls hold onto things. Little pieces of the people who’ve been here. Sometimes, I think I can almost feel it.”
Opal’s gaze softened as she looked around the room, her fingers tracing the quilt’s faded pattern. “It’s not something you find every day,” she murmured. “Most people would probably just… rip all this out, tear it down. But there’s something special about leaving things as they are. Like the house has a memory.”
Tilly nodded, her hand resting on the edge of the bed. “That’s why I’m here. It would feel wrong to let this place go, you know? There’s so much history here, and it’s… kind of up to me to keep it alive.”
They lay in silence for a few moments, both of them absorbing the quiet atmosphere of the room. The gentle creak of the floorboards, the subtle smell of old wood and lavender, the faint hum of the outside world filtering through the open window—it all seemed to weave together, creating a sense of belonging that was as grounding as it was nostalgic.
“So… Max was the one who wanted more,” Opal said after a pause, picking up the thread of their earlier conversation. “What happened to him, anyway? I mean, after he left?”
Tilly let out a small sigh, her eyes drifting back to the window. “He moved to New York, started a business of his own. From what I heard, he made a name for himself there. But he never came back. Frank tried reaching out a few times, but Max just… let it go. It was like he’d moved on and didn’t need us anymore.”
Opal was quiet for a moment, her gaze contemplative. “And Frank? He just stayed here?”
“Yeah,” Tilly said, a slight smile touching her lips. “He poured everything into Santa Creda after that. He built August House as a kind of monument, I guess—to what he and Max had done together. But without Max’s drive, the family eventually settled into a quieter life. They kept the house and the business, but no one really wanted to expand. It was more about preserving what they’d built.”
Opal’s hand brushed against Tilly’s as she shifted on the bed, her fingers warm and steady. She glanced over, her voice soft. “You know… you could do that too. You don’t have to make this place into something it’s not. You can just let it be what it is.”
Tilly looked down at their hands, feeling the comforting weight of Opal’s touch. “I guess that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she admitted, her voice quiet. “It’s strange… sometimes I feel like I’m carrying this huge responsibility, but other times, it’s like the house is just… waiting. Like it’s been here so long, it doesn’t need me to do anything. Just be here.”
Opal’s eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement as she looked around the room. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a pretty good job so far. It’s not every day someone decides to move into an old mansion full of quirks and mysteries.” She squeezed Tilly’s hand gently, her smile soft. “You’ve got something special here. And if you ever need help… you know I’m always around.”
They both lay back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling as the sunlight cast a warm glow over the room. The old wood seemed to breathe around them, the house settling into the quiet rhythm of their presence. The evening light softened the room, lending it a golden, timeless quality that felt as though it had existed forever, just waiting for them to step into it.
In that moment, with Opal beside her and the house’s gentle presence around her, Tilly felt a sense of peace—a quiet certainty that, despite the uncertainties ahead, she was exactly where she was meant to be.